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I did not know this: Beijing has been home to one of three Chinese Hooters restaurants since 2008.
The LA Times ran a piece before the weekend describing the thriving franchise locations, and noting the significance of their success in a sexually confused China.
Author Lily Kuo wonders if the ladies in orange short-shorts might actually be ushering in a powerful new kind of sexuality for China’s micromanaged population, allowing them a “clean,” safe, “family” experience that emboldens young and enticing females:
On the scale of China’s sexual evolution, Hooters lands somewhere between a wink and a smile. Unthinkable two decades ago, the restaurant promotes a playful kind of sexuality different from the country’s seedy massage parlors and hostess bars, and yes, it serves the chain’s famous wings too.
The restaurant may be another example of globalization in China, but it’s also a snapshot of changing attitudes toward sex in a country full of contradictions. Gone are the days when public displays of affection were frowned upon, although selected things remain off-limits.
It’s possible, she writes, that the popular Chinese Hooters locations might actually reflect a shift towards what Kuo calls “hot-girl economics,” where female sex appeal is the bargaining chip (American readers, you may, uh, be familiar).
All I know is that any time I’m sitting at a restaurant table and a goofy-grinned girl kneels down too close to ask me if I’d like to add some fish to my wing order, while wearing slippery nylons under polyester shorts and shoving her cans in my face, I get sad. I don’t get hungry.
And I’m pretty sure that feeling applies to both Chinese and American goofy-grinned girls in polyester shorts.
Filed under: Beijing Hooters, Creepy Restaurants, Disgrestaurants, Evolution, Eww, Family Restaurants, Female Exploitasian, Hooters, Hooters China, Hot-Girl Economics, Ick, Kneeling, Oh boy HooterzzZZzzzZz!, Sexuality, Shanghai Hooters, Short Shorts, The Importance of Cleanliness, Wings
Paris Hilton’s My New BFF, season deux, debuted last night.
And despite all of my wishes, prayers, hopes and dreams, the set’s “throne” chair did not suddenly morph into a slobbering mound of feral, starving, sharp-toothed, snapping, diseased, angry labia that instantly/simultaneously enveloped and digested Paris (and that little piss, Onch) in one smelly, violent bite.
That seriously would have been the best thing ever. Ever.
Source (nice typo, MTV!)
Part of the reason I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch MTV’s latest idiotic reality show, Paris Hilton’s My New BFF–in which wannabe starfuckers vy for the slot as Paris’s main hanger-on–is that I can’t bear the thought of anybody, however tarderriffic they may be anyway, groveling at the feet of Paris Hilton.
Worse, I hate the thought of an Asian (especially a gaysian!) on his knees in front of that walking syphilis host!